


Your Biggest Fan

by Lauren_Deming



Category: Material Issue (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fan-Idol Friendship, First-Person Observer, Flashback, Fluff, Material Issue (Band) - Freeform, Memories, Other, Songfic, Speculative fiction, Work Fic, occasional strong language, real person fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7485819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_Deming/pseuds/Lauren_Deming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time in Chicago, a girl fell in love with a voice.  This is the story of a serendipitous night in her young life, as told by someone who knew and liked her fairly well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's only one character in this story that I do not own, and "Valerie Loves Me", "Very First Lie", "Don't You Think I Know" and "The Fan" all belong to him.

Today was one I'd been looking forward to for months. I don't get to see my Ashley as often as I'd like these days, since she and her husband moved clear across the Lake to Lansing. I watch my grandbabies grow in Facebook posts. I know that's not uncommon, and I would never begrudge my daughter her freedom. I guess I just anticipated that an accountant would have less trouble finding time to get away. But then again, that's not what I went to school for. 

The holidays and the occasional visit are never enough, and in Chicago, the former isn't even guaranteed. I bite my nails throughout December and pray to the weather gods to make the snowfall _just_ atrocious enough not to cancel any flights. Occasional visits get postponed as well. This past Christmas, Ashley had announced her intention to visit me again in February. They would have made it if Henry, all of five, hadn't come down with the trifecta --- strep throat, stomach flu _and_ bronchitis. They then said they'd try again in April, long before Brian was assigned to close a potentially quite lucrative deal at work. Finally, in June, _this week,_ they made it.

So there we all were in my kitchen, the sparkling morning sun streaming through the open blinds and over the breakfast nook as we devoured the results of my family-visit-mandated Belgian waffle bar and breathlessly talked over the events of the past five months. Afterwards, Henry decided he wanted to go outside and run through the sprinkler. This being Nana's house, he went under his dad's watchful eye. Ashley and I stayed behind to tackle the dishes as little Charlotte, almost a year and a half old, watched us from her high chair and made trilling, babbling remarks on the action.

I snatched the Sunday paper from the magazine rack in the front room to disembowel with Ashley on the now-clear kitchen table, ready to scour the city for the best meat deals it had to offer. I'd planned a barbecue for Friday night to celebrate Ashley's visit and invited half my co-workers as well as some of Ashley's old friends and their families. As Ashley cut up a banana at the kitchen island for Charlotte, I extracted the Jewel-Osco sale sheet.

"Offer good Friday the 17th through Thursday the 24th," I mumbled to myself, glancing over the meat specials. "Honey," I called to Ashley, "what's today's date?"

"It is theee..." Ashley came over and disentangled her purse from the back of her chair. She fished madly for a few seconds before drawing out the offending object that had dared hide from her and glancing at the screen. "Twentieth."

_The twentieth? Of June? Already?_

"Dammit, this thing won't hold a charge anymore," I heard Ashley mutter from far, far away. "Mom, do you have a charging cable anywhere?"

_2016\. That makes twenty years. Has it really been that long?_

"Mom? _Mom!_ Are you okay?"

I snapped back with a yelp, dropping the flier. "Oh, uh, honey, I'm sorry," I stammered. "I was staring into space. What did you ask me?"

"A charging cable," she repeated. "It doesn't look like I thought to bring one. Do you have one I could use?"

Though my mind was still spinning, I somehow managed to formulate a response. 

"Th-there might be one in my office. I'll go look."

"Okay," she replied. "Sorry I'm a spaz."

Ashley turned her attention back to Charlotte as I trudged down the hall. I think I heard her scrape the bits of banana onto the high chair tray. I think I heard her coo and try to make her laugh. But it was being drowned out by another sound, one that lay buried in my mind for most of the year, but was now bleeding to the surface, growing louder and louder and more unmistakable by the second.

I really have a lot of nerve calling it an "office". It's a walk-in closet I never used for its intended purpose, so I stashed a desk, some books, and a computer in there. Nevertheless, it's where I pay the bills, make occasional feeble attempts at writing, and think. Now that I knew what day it was, now that I heard that voice ringing in my mind again, I was going to be doing _a lot_ of thinking.

_Twenty years. Unbelievable._

I lowered myself slowly into my fraying second-hand office chair and sighed. I drummed my fingers on the desk and stared into my dark, dormant computer screen. Whatever I had come in here for, it was going to have to wait, because I could no longer remember.

I knew that my thoughts would stray, as they did every time the twentieth of June rolled around, to a girl named Lily. A girl --- now a woman --- whom I haven’t seen in over twenty years. I knew her back when I was nearing the end of my own misspent youth, and still a wage slave.


	2. Chapter 2

It came back to me in waves, little by little --- the smoke-tinged, parching air, the dizzying year-round overheat, the neglected fluorescent lights that tinted everything a vague, anemic yellow. The racks and racks of acid wash and flannel, of drab, boxy suits and dainty floral dresses. The crowds, the noise, the constant, unyielding disarray of the place. Task after tedious task, mulling over poor life decisions to the tune of $4.25 an hour. It was a situation, a moment in time, that I'm sure no one in their right mind would ever want to go back to if they could avoid it.

I started at the Evergreen Plaza Carson's in 1989, I believe. I was recently divorced, having taken the department manager job to support Ashley, who turned five that year. Lily was taken on to housewares the following summer, right after she graduated from high school, and I trained her there as well as in women's and children's apparel, should someone ever call off. She was a decade my junior and a tiny little thing --- barely five feet tall and _maybe_ a buck even soaking wet, easily the smallest girl I ever supervised there. Everything about her was fine and delicate, from her size-five feet to her tender, childlike hands, her bright gingery hair that fell in soft waves to the small of her back to her creamy skin with the sprinkling of light brown freckles across her nose and cheeks. I don't know if she was a dancer, but I wouldn't be surprised, what with the way she seemed to flit from display to display in her department, as graceful as any ballerina. Lily's eyes, though, are what I remember the best: huge, moist, wondering, somewhere between blue and green and tears. If you looked closely, there seemed to be a network of tiny gold veins radiating from her pupils, and when she was excited, or in awe, or wanted something very much, they seemed to sparkle and cast something like a galaxy over her eyes. With those enormous orbs dominating her roundish face with its tapered little chin, Lily looked for all the world like a fairy, or maybe an angel. Or the Little Mermaid, as Ashley declared on the one occasion she and Lily had met.

Lily had been born to a pair of hippies, and it showed. She looked more-or-less mainstream on the surface, but you got to see the flower child in her the more you got to know her. For instance, Lily loved flowers, and she loved to wear them. She'd been taught as a child how to braid dandelions into a crown, and every May when they were out, it wasn't unusual for her to come into work wearing one. Later in the summer, she'd do the same with daisies or blue chicory, weave delicate little bracelets out of white or pink clover, or even find her namesake to pin behind her ear. Lily was also an explorer of sorts --- one of her goals before she got her diploma was to see _all_ of her city, despite my protests that it probably wasn't a good idea. Nevertheless, she read all the free local arts and lifestyle publications the UIC campus had to offer like catechism, circling things she hadn't seen and places she hadn't been to discover in her very limited spare time. She regaled me with stories of her travels many a lunch hour --- the shops, the restaurants, the museums, the festivals, the neighborhoods. She probably spent more time outdoors than any redhead should. The three great loves of Lily's life were, in ascending order: chocolate affogato, photography, and a band called Material Issue.

I was first introduced to them not quite a year after Lily had joined us. I remember it had been a particularly unpleasant morning, and I had finally found some time to sneak off to the break room for a very much-needed cigarette. Lily, also on her fifteen-minute break, was dancing in place in front of the mirror next to the sink. Her tiny purple Doc Martens drummed a pert little rhythm on the crud-caked tile floor. She rolled her head back and forth, swinging her brilliant hair in a wide arc along with it.

"Valerie loves me!" she stage-whispered to the mirror.

Intrigued, I tapped her on a fine-boned shoulder, and she spun around with a gasp. "Oh my gosh, Pam, I'm sorry," she said in a rush, turning a bit red. I saw that her Walkman was clipped to the front pocket of her jeans, and she was hastily removing the earbuds from her ears as she spoke. "I got a little carried away, didn't I?"

"Oh, you're fine, honey," I said. "You're having quite a bit of fun for being at work."

"Well, it is a break after all," she said, trying to sound professional.

"What are you listening to?"

"Material Issue," she replied, failing to suppress a bubble of girlish joy that rose in her throat at the name. 

"Gesundheit," I snarked.

"They're from right here in Chicago," she went on, undeterred. She hugged her shoulders, as if she were feeling something magical stirring within her, and her eyes went soft and shimmery again. "They're not like _any_ other band in the world. No one compares to them. They will _change your life._ "

"Is that so?" I said, a bit sardonically. "Can I listen?"

"Sure!" Lily held an earbud out to me. "It's okay. I'm clean as a whistle, I swear to Jesus."

"I believe ya," I said as I took it and placed it in my own ear. Lily hit the play button again.

" _ **VALERIE LOVES ME!!**_ " a voice screamed in my ear. I hollered.

"Sorry!" Lily exclaimed, cupping her mouth with her hands in horror. "I ... must have had the volume too high. Are you okay? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Even though I'm positive I lost some hearing in that ear that day, I laughed it off and sat down with Lily at the cluster of Formica tables in the center of the room.

I listened to a couple of songs. She told me they were a three-piece. They sounded so much fuller than that, though. I recognized the sound as, what the music magazines called a decade or so prior, "power pop". Power pop was a big deal when I was in high school, and to someone like Lily growing up in the Chicagoland area, it just made sense: with its pounding rhythms, its guitars sparkling instead of merely singing, and its vocals almost always boyish and energetic, it was the perfect way to rebel against hippie parents.

When we had to go back to work, Lily once again proclaimed how amazing they were, and I humored her. But I was tired and irritable, and not really much in the mood to listen too closely. The music sounded tinny in the headphones, and for what I gathered at the time, they didn't sound all that different from the acts --- Cheap Trick, Shoes, what have you --- that were hot when I was her age.

When you love a band as much as Lily did, you hold at the very least an appreciation for each member. How could you not? Take one away, and the sound is fractured; it's just not there. The lush, exhilarating tide of notes falls short without the slamming breakneck drums, or the ever-solid, relentless bass, or the soaring, heavenly counter-tenor backup. Lily _appreciated_ each member of Material Issue, sure --- but she really only had eyes for one.

Lily stared at a full-page picture of him one afternoon during her lunch, her earbuds once again secured firmly in her ears, and in between bites of leftover pasta and sips of Coca-Cola, she let out an ardent, almost tragic sigh.

"He's perfect," she opined to no one in particular.

Heather, a large blonde girl, looked over Lily's shoulder at her magazine as she passed. 

"Him?" Heather grimaced. "No offense, Lily, but he looks like a buttcrack."

"He does not!" Lily retorted. "He's beautiful."

I looked up from my sandwich and coffee and smiled. "Is that your man, Lily? The Material Issue guy? Jim ... something?"

"Jim Ellison," she completed. The name sounded like the tinkling of tiny glass bells on her lips. "They did a story about local musicians and their home life."

She pushed the magazine across the table to me. Again, I wasn't too interested, but I'd found over the year or so she'd worked there at that point that she was so in love, so passionate, so damn _adorable_ about this man that I couldn't help but humor her again.

"He does have a very ... interesting look," I offered, having barely looked at the photo.

"Yeah, like Luke Perry if he ran afoul of Dracula," Heather snarked.

"You don’t understand," said Lily. She turned to look at Heather without a trace of guile or malice. "He just … he has the most incredible voice."

Heather shrugged. "If you say so, babe."

"Well, don't take it from me!" Lily popped an earbud out of her left ear and showed it to Heather. "I'm listening to him right now."

Heather waved her hands. "Sorry, I don't use headphones that aren't my own," she said with a smirk.

"Good rule to live by," I piped up.

Lily pouted her lower lip facetiously. "That's too bad. I don't have cooties, y'know."

"It's just the principle of the thing, Lil. Nothing personal," Heather replied.

"Fair enough, I guess," said Lily.

Heather deposited the remains of her lunch in the trash can and left to punch back in. Lily gathered up her magazine and her own trash to follow suit. Before she left, she turned back to me.

"I played them for you," she reminded me, the stars coming out in her eyes again. "You agree, don't you?"

I could only manage a vague, hopefully reassuring smile.

That photo would adorn the door of Lily's locker, along with others of her prince and his bandmates, for the rest of her tenure at Carson's.


	3. Chapter 3

And just like that, there it was --- the memory of _that_ night, the only one in my entire retail career that I wish I could have back. It must have been 1993, because Ashley was set to start fourth grade in the fall. It must have been the middle of August, because the back-to-school push was in full force and the store was a madhouse of exasperated mothers and sullen teenagers, not to mention the choking, raunchy heat that lingered inside when the door to the outside entrance opened. I was thirty-one that year, and Lily was anticipating her senior year at UIC. She had gotten this job to help pay her tuition, and if she had luck on her side, she wouldn't be with us much longer.

Lily's shift began at five. I'd been there since noon. In our section of the store, there were two department managers left for the evening: myself and Naomi, who mostly covered women's and children's. The tide of shoppers that had been so relentless earlier had finally begun to ebb. No amount of business is ever too much, despite how it might sometimes seem, and I really had no reason to complain. Unfortunately, when the customer comes first, nothing else gets done.

So there I stood, my list of unfinished tasks and paperwork in hand, as Naomi rattled off the litany of freight to be put away before we were allowed to leave. And with eight cage carts and U-boats boats all groaning under the weight of their wares, there was no way in hell we were getting out early.

Naomi was short, squat, on the wrong side of thirty-five and the mother of many children --- I forget exactly how many, but there were a lot. She had a couple of biker tattoos, one on her chest and another on her wrist, I forget of what. She wore loud, ill-fitting blouses that hugged every roll and ripple, and sometimes covered her sparse, spiky bleached hair with a stiff black wig. Her thin, pale lips were drawn tightly across her broad face in a near-permanent frown. Her eyes were small and almost always narrowed, for one reason or another, and topped off with eyebrows drawn on with grease pencil. They were of a color I once, when I was small, heard my father refer to as "pond mud". I still think he was fishing for a more polite alternative to "dog shit". 

The strangest thing about Naomi, however, was that she could be charming when she wanted to be. She was never anything less than courteous and knowledgeable when she dealt with her customers, and they all seemed to really like her. That charm served her well in a few instances. What I knew to be the crowning achievement of Naomi's tenure at Carson's (and I'm sure she'd feel the same) began with a phone call from an elderly woman. Because her vision was failing, she was in the habit of ordering over the phone from different stores. Naomi gathered up the items she requested and took her card number without making her out to be an imposition of any kind. When the receipt printed, she was aghast: the name on the card was Vrdolyak. That's right --- she was the maiden aunt of the Windy City's very own Edward Vrdolyak, Fast Eddie himself.

Naomi bundled the purchases into her car, drove to the woman's house and spent the next hour or so putting down shelf paper, arranging flatware and crockery, and making conversation. She announced the not-quite-celebrity encounter the next morning at our huddle, and she crowed about it for weeks afterward.

Naomi and I began the evening walk through the departments, stopping at each to make sure everyone was actually doing what they were paid to. I smelled Lily before I saw or heard her that evening. She kept a small bottle of lilac _eau de toilette_ in her locker (the illustrious Mr. Ellison’s favorite flower, she said), and always dabbed a little bit on her neck before her shift. When Naomi and I walked past her, she was kneeling to face the bottom of the throw pillow display, and she was tugging some out and squishing some back in to match the neat facings shown on the plan-o-gram. The blue silk ribbon that rather romantically held the sides of her hair back in a braided circlet bobbed as she sang to herself in her sugar-sweet, flutelike voice: 

_"I'd like to wake up with you early in the morning,_

_Or stay up late jut playing records on your phonograph..."_

"Stop. Singing," Naomi hissed in her ear. "How many times have we talked about this?"

Lily's shoulders tensed, and she bowed her head in embarrassment. "Sorry," she whispered.

I never saw Naomi treat any of the others as badly as she treated Lily. I'd go into why, but none of us ever really knew why. Despite her upbringing, Lily had a work ethic. She never just stood around. She greeted and helped her customers, as we were all expected to, and I never saw her be anything but polite to them. She was even civil to the difficult ones. In return, for the most part, Lily's customers thought she was darling and sometimes relayed her name to the cashiers to give to the general manager, who was next to never around. But it didn't seem to matter, as far as Naomi was concerned. Even the girl in the shoe department who did nothing on the clock but make tiny animal sculptures out of Scotch tape got it better than Lily seemed to.

Let's see: there was the morning Lily opened --- a rare occurrence for her during the school year --- and entered the housewares department to find two-and-a-half dozen coffeemakers scattered on the floor and Naomi standing over them, demanding to know if she put them in the now-empty cubbyhole beneath the coffeemaker display shelf. Lily answered truthfully, that she had had class the previous night. Apparently, whoever _had_ put them there was supposed to put them in the cubbyhole _to the right_ of that one. Either way, Lily got stuck with the mess.

Then there was the night, right around one Thanksgiving, that that horrid old bitch came into the store. I don't remember her name, but she was a regular, and a _problem_ regular at that. She found fault with everything, be it merchandise, store upkeep, service or management. What transpired that night progressed like her typical visit --- the only difference was that Lily didn't know enough yet to stay out of her way, and so our old friend decided to find fault with _her_. Namely, that her T-shirt rode up a touch in the back when she bent over to rearrange a display of festive paper plates and napkins, and that she was rude to her (for "rude", read "unsure if we carried an item that was, in fact, discontinued three years prior"). But Naomi didn't need, or care, to know that when our friend assailed her with the complaints of the day. The harpy got off scot-free, but Lily ended that shift with a big fat write-up. She went back to campus in tears. That was the last time I ever saw her wear jeans. It was overalls from there on out.

I think the one I remember best, though, was a summer morning Lily opened. Right after our morning huddle, Naomi began handing out tasks. Lily was assigned to post new signage next to each clock on the clock wall.

"There should be tools and signage set out for you on the ledge of the framed art wall," Naomi informed her. "I want it done in ten minutes."

"Will do," Lily replied cheerfully. "I'm on it."

The huddle broke, the doors were unlocked, and everyone went off to their various duties. I saw Lily disappear around the corner to tackle the new clock signage ... which she would have had done in ten minutes had the tools and signage actually been where Naomi said they would be.

About ten minutes later, I passed the clock wall. It was only about half-done. Lily was perched atop a wobbly stepladder, trying frantically to finish before Naomi came to check on her. As if on cue, Naomi entered from the other side of home decor. I ducked behind a center aisle display and peeked around the side.

"Why isn't this done, Lily?" she barked.

"You said the tools would be out for me, and they weren't."

"I said they _should_. I never said they would."

"Well, they weren't out here. I had to go find them in the stockroom, and I lost time."

Naomi made a big show of throwing up her hands. "Sooooo, _why_ didn't you work faster? Remember yesterday's huddle? About rising to meet the challenge?"

Lily's voice was now heavy with threatening tears. "I --- I wasn't aware this was a challenge. I thought it was just a task."

"God, you make me so angry. Not only do you not improve, you can't even adapt. Just finish it and get on the reshops," Naomi ordered.

"I tried," Lily sniffled.

"Yeah, whatever," Naomi bit back as she stormed away. "Puppies learn. My kids learn. You don't learn. But I keep hoping. Like an idiot, I keep hoping."

Lily dejectedly turned to face the aisle, a single tear falling down her cheek. I turned away before our eyes met.

There were other incidents for sure, considering how many times I heard just-audible sobbing coming from underneath the cloth-covered table in the corner of the break room. But what could I do? What could any of us do? We all had problems of our own. I had Ashley to think about, and many of the other girls were also supporting children alone, or underemployed husbands and boyfriends, or trying to pay for as much of their own education as possible, like Lily. And it was no secret that Carson Pirie Scott was muddling through Chapter 11 then. Any store could close at any time with no warning, and no job was safe. None of us could afford any trouble, and so none of us dared challenge each other. It was shitty of us, though.

Although they were supposed to be done as close to first thing in the morning as possible, I'd saved the one/seven/fourteen forms for last. God, how I hated those. The last thing I think any department manager would want to do, with his or her average workload, is schlep to each department looking for certain new items on the list with only a fifty-fifty shot of them actually being on the floor. In short, it often proves to be a waste of time. Around seven o'clock or thereabouts, I was searching fruitlessly for a dove-gray Guess halter dress when I heard a faint, but _nasty,_ screech of tires outside, followed by a faraway shout of "Idiot!" At the same time I stifled my own laugh, a raucous, raspy peal erupted from the next rack over.

It was Simone, from the women's department, laughing her head off with an armful of garments. Stunning, stunning Simone. To this day, she remains one of the most beautiful women I have ever laid eyes on --- mid-twenties when I knew her, five-foot-ten, long, lean, and always looked like she stepped out of a music video. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes large, dark and knowing, her caramel skin as flawless as her brilliant dentist-approved smile. Her hair was always perfectly, intricately braided, the braids tipped with gold filigree beads. Her clothes and jewelry were as provocative as the dress code would allow, but seeing as she legitimately had a model's body and face, she'd make anything look good anyway. Why she wasn't doing photoshoots in Bora Bora and rich-rich-rich was a mystery to all of us. On any other girl, looks of that caliber would be intimidating. Lord knows I felt hideous next to her. Simone, however, was the cheerleader of the store. She wanted her co-workers to succeed. She never had a bad word to say about anyone, no matter how useless or unpleasant. Also, she was pretty excitable.

"Oh my God, did you hear that?" she cackled. "It was just --- I mean, it doesn't sound like anyone's hurt, but just --- 'Idiot!'" She threw her head back and laughed again. "That clinched it, man."

I finally chuckled myself. "Yeah, that was pretty funny."

Simone fanned her face with her hand, trying to regain her composure. "Okay, okay, okay, I'm good now, I swear. Um, listen. I just got all the women's dressing rooms cleaned out, so don't worry about those. Took me half the day."

"I hear ya, honey," I said. "Thank you for letting me know."

"Always happy to do it."

Then I remembered. "Hey, Simone, before I go, um, have you seen, like, sort of a dove-gray Guess halter dress tonight at all?"

Simone looked perplexed. She shook her head. "No, I haven't."

"Forget it, then," I said. "I'll just go back over to housewares and try to finish that list."

"Okay," Simone said cheerily as ever. "See ya later."

"Yeah, see ya."

I approached the scented candle wall in home decor. Lily appeared to be wrestling with the safety bar on the shelf she had begun to straighten. It had almost certainly been dislodged and now had to be snapped back into place, which happened with depressing regularity. Apparently, the display candle in front of the bar simply wasn't good enough for most people. I shrugged and set off to find the new Orville Redenbacher popcorn maker at the top of the housewares list. I hadn't taken more than ten steps when I heard Naomi tearing into Lily once again. I ducked behind the luggage display across the aisle and peeked out.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Someone busted the bar," Lily replied. "I'm trying to pop it back in."

"Someone busted the bar," Naomi snidely echoed. "Is that right?"

I watched as Naomi shoved Lily's arm aside to examine the candle wall. Her brows, which appeared to be melting slightly, knit together tighter and tighter.

_Oh, dear God._

Naomi straightened back up. "Well, Lily, it seems all the other bars are busted, too," she snapped. "Care to explain it?"

Lily trembled, and I could see her frightened eyes begin to well up from my hiding place.

"I --- I haven't gotten to those yet," she explained, her voice a bit choked.

"Every. Single. Bar," Naomi persisted, her voice rising. "Why do you do this, Lily? Why do you do this to me? Do you _enjoy_ pissing me off?"

Lily was sobbing now. "They were like this!" she pleaded through her tears. "Someone did this! I'm trying to fix this!"

"You're damn right you're gonna fix this," Naomi snarled. "You're gonna fix every last bar on this wall before you leave tonight, but first, you're gonna _fill it._ Go grab a pen and a sheet of paper, make a list of the candles you need, get a cage cart and fill it up, bring it out here --- and _then_ pop the bars back in."

Lily looked down at her feet, sniffling, her face beet red. She knew some customers had seen. Without a word, she turned and trudged off in the direction of the women's apparel desk. My eyes followed her as she went.

"Happy?" Naomi called after her. "Made more work for yourself?"

 _Didn't your mother ever tell you to pick on someone your own size?_ I started away from the display, but quickly shrunk back. 

_No. Not tonight. It's not worth it. Not when there's so much shit already to do._

I figured at that point that the only place I was going to find any peace and quiet was, ironically, the juniors' desk. There were maybe one or two girls and their mothers left, the rest having swarmed the store earlier in the day. I walked over and plopped my stack of paperwork down, along with my elbows. I held my head in my hands and rubbed my temples. I tried to look at the list again, but my eyes were beginning to cross. I turned it face-down on the counter and closed my eyes.

"Uh, excuse me? Could I have some help?"

The query came from above, and hung in the air right over my bowed head. I lifted my eyes, a bit wearily, to meet it --- and a flash of recognition instantly seized my mind.

"Oh my," I started. "I know you. I --- I've seen your face before. I cannot for the life of me place it."

"You go to shows at all?" he suggested, looking down at me with a vaguely amused expression.

"Not really, no," I replied as matter-of-factly as I could. "I mean, I have a little girl, and it was never really my scene anyway. No offense."

Where had I seen him before? He was about my age, maybe a bit younger. He _wasn't_ handsome, or at least he shouldn't have been. His face was long and pale, with cheekbones so sharply defined that one could probably cut themselves on them. He had a very straight, almost delicate nose. His hair was stick-straight, honey-colored and trimmed neatly into a chili-bowl style, something I never thought any self-respecting grown man would have. A small silver hoop dangled from his left ear.

His eyes, however, seemed to me to be his finest feature. They were periwinkle blue and tilted down at the outer corners so they appeared slightly sad, strangely both innocent and intense in his narrow, bony bit of a face that I couldn't assign a name to. He seemed to have a habit of widening them a touch when he was interested in something one said or did, like when I mentioned my little girl.

"Oh. How old is she?"

"She's nine."

"She excited for school to start?"

"Very."

I felt like I saw this face nearly every day. But _where?_ Why wasn't it coming to me?

"I don't believe it," I continued. "I could swear I've seen you before."

"Well, I'm not normally a man who enjoys being anonymous, but I'll let it slide just this once," he tossed back with a quirk of his mouth.

"Oh, don't worry, it'll come to me eventually. Probably right after you've left." 

I chuckled at my own joke. He grinned back, displaying a mouthful of crowded, prematurely yellowing teeth that no metal had likely ever touched. No matter, though. I felt the corners of my own mouth turning up. It may have been far from a perfect smile, but it was contagious.

"Where would I go to find, y'know, house stuff?" he inquired.

"I can, uh, call someone up from housewares if you're willing to wait a second."

"It's all good," he replied, still smiling. "I don't have anywhere to be. Kind of a rare thing for me these days."

He stepped back from the counter. My eyes flicked up and down his frame, searching for clues. He was very tall --- six feet with more than a little spare change. And he was skinny, _alarmingly_ so. If the T-shirt he wore had been solid instead of striped, I'm positive I could have made out every rib, sternum and clavicle. He wore a rather fitted black leather jacket --- it must have been custom-made --- emblazoned with large white stars up the right-hand side despite the ninety-degree heat, the belt unfastened and dangling in the back. A simple silver chain with an Aries charm pendant glistened around his neck. His legs --- dear God, _those legs!_ \--- were encased in the skinniest black stovepipe jeans I had ever seen in my life. At the end of them were laced a pair of burgundy Doc Martens, which he absently tapped to an imaginary beat.

At least the hair made sense now. It was a very _mod_ sort of look. Wasn't that a little passe?

"Y'see, I just bought my first house," the customer continued as I searched for the walkie.

"Congratulations," I said.

"Thanks. I have some things, but there's still a lot I need, and I have _no_ clue where to start. A friend of mine told me to come here."

He reached out towards the desk to drum his fingers on the counter. They were long, elegant, adorned with thin silver rings, and calloused at the tips. A musician's hands.

A guy like him usually wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this, but he didn't seem embarrassed in the least. Sure, this wasn't his element, and he had no qualms with asking for assistance. But as I looked him over, I realized it was because he was simply too cool for the situation, and he _knew_ it. His leather jacket, for one thing, spoke to that. Not only was he too cool to dress for the weather, so was he to use any kind of security mechanism, like the belt dangling at his back.

I studied him once again, still drawing a blank --- his casual slouching stance, his serenity of expression as he surveyed his new surroundings, that for all the world he might have ruled over. He was so above it all that he was actually right at home here, and would be anywhere for that matter. 

I couldn't look away from him now. He had what I guess some people would call an aura --- a force, a pull, something that came from somewhere within that made people just sit up and notice. His looks were good, but unconventional; his smile crooked but bright, his manner cool and cocksure, but also held a sort of sensitive, heartfelt charm, like the openness with which he addressed me. Those combinations shouldn't have worked together in anyone, but they harmonized perfectly around him.

Charisma, pure and simple. One of the few things in this world that can't be taught, one of the things people like me could only dream they possessed. He hadn't spoken more than a few words to me, but I sensed that by the end of the night, I'd probably never forget him. He was definitely a force of nature, a _presence_ \--- one that no one could look away from once introduced. 

_But who the hell was he?_

Simone suddenly appeared from my left, carrying another stack of paperwork.

"Hey, Pam," she began, "um, you were looking over your one/seven/fourteens still, right? Well, it reminded me that I finished mine earlier and left them at the women's desk, so I'm just bringing them over if you're gonna take them to the office. You might actually have du---oh, HELL no!"

Simone promptly dropped her paperwork on the floor and pointed a carefully manicured, trembling finger at the customer. "You --- you're Lily's dude! Holy shit, it's Lily's dude! You're Lily's dude! Oh my God!"

_Lily's dude._

It _was._ Lily's angel of music, in the flesh, standing before us.

He grinned again. "Lily? Who's Lily?"

"Lily Chastain," Simone continued on the same breath. "She works here in the home department and, oh my God, she --- she _love_ you. She love you more than _life itself._ She be talkin' about you _all_ the time, she listens to your music in the break room, she got pictures of you all over her locker..."

_Lily's locker. Of course._

"If I didn't know any better," Simone prattled on, "I'd say she was your biggest fan. No, actually, if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was saving herself for you!"

He dipped his head, a bit surprised at the audacity of that sentiment. "Lily Chastain," he repeated. "That's gotta be the most beautiful name I've ever heard."

"Well, she's a very beautiful girl. You would really love her. Really little and cute and she's got this bright red h---" Simone's description suddenly caught in her throat. She gasped and turned to me. "Is she _here,_ Pam?"

 _So it finally occurs to her to ask._ “Yes, Simone, she's here,” I answered, hardly containing my amusement at this point.

"SHE'S _**HERE!!**_ ” Simone could probably have been heard in DeKalb County. “I wasn't sure! I mean, she's so small that she disappears behind things, y'know? Okay, normally this is something I would give my life savings to see, but now, thanks to you, I don't have to! She is so gonna flip out! And I am so, so sorry, I hear about you a lot from her, but for some reason I have completely forgotten your name. I'm so embarrassed!” Simone clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.

He laughed as well, a strange, nasal, ascending titter. "It's Jim. Jim Ellison."

"Jim Ellison! That's right!" Simone extended her hand, still giggling uncontrollably. "I'm Simone. Very pleased to meet you."

He shook it. "Very pleased to meet you too, Simone."

She motioned to me, and I managed a nervous little wave. "And this is Pam."

Lily's dude stepped back over to me and shook my hand. "Nice to meet _you,_ Pam." It was a firm and decisive handshake, but earnest as well. No pretense, no fakery.

"We've heard so much about you," I offered. "All from Lily."

"In other words, nothin' bad," he replied. "You said she works in the home department?"

"Yeah, the home department. She's like a good little fairy or something there. Everybody loves her. Just like Valerie." Simone's gleeful laugh tore from her throat again. "That's the song, right?"

"Yeah," he answered, laughing his strange nasal laugh again. "That's the song. The home department's actually where I need to go."

"Then she can help you!" Simone exclaimed. She grabbed the walkie from the edge of the juniors' desk. "See? You could page her up here yourself. Sing to her or something. Put her name in a song like you're always doin'."

"Nah, I wanna surprise her," he said, mischief darting in his eyes. "Which way is she comin’?"

"Housewares is that aisle," I said, pointing to my right. "She’ll be coming up that way."

"Okay, you need to hide!" Simone declared.

He, having a slightly higher field of vision than Simone, began to scan the juniors' section for a suitable hiding place for someone of his size, which is to say there weren't many. Before he could spot it, Simone piped up again.

"The pole! Go behind the pole!" she ordered, pointing.

At Carson's, "pole" refers to a support column with mirrors on all sides that the customers can check themselves in. It's much more efficient than traditional mirrors, but also quite a bit narrower. I watched him, or Jim --- now that his identity had been confirmed, I was comfortable calling him Jim --- slip effortlessly between the pole and the rack of workout apparel directly behind it, without bumping either. I stepped out from behind the desk to see how well it hid him. 

"I'm not pokin' out anywhere, am I?" he called from behind the pole. 

No, he wasn't. He disappeared completely. Holy mother of God, he was thin. I half-wondered how a slight breeze wouldn’t snap him in two.

Simone picked up the walkie. "Liiiiiiiiily," she coaxed. "Lily Bean, what's goin' on? Where you at?"

"I'm in home decor," came the answer. "Where _you_ at?"

"Juniors' desk," Simone replied with a fish-eating grin, "and you better get up here right now, because you are gonna _freak._ "

There was a brief pause. "Good freak or bad freak?"

"Probably a little of both. It's a surprise."

Another brief pause. "It's … not my birthday?"

"Might as well be now, girl! Get your cute little butt up here!"

Another pause, this one fraught with apprehension.

"Okay," Lily answered, her voice still uncertain. "I'll be there in a sec."

Simone and I stood still as statues near the desk. She took my hand and squeezed it, still shaking with excitement. I tried to keep one eye on the aisle and one eye on the pole that Lily's prince waited behind. It was only a moment or two, but it felt like hours. 

Lily finally came around the corner, nervously tugging her lavender crocheted cardigan tighter around her, her exquisite eyes wide with dread. "What's going on?" she inquired softly.

One reed-thin, seemingly endless leg lurched out from behind the pole. The rest of him followed with a swing of his narrow hips. "Surpriiiiiiiise!" he half-sang at her.

Lily's eyes nearly popped right out of her head. She clapped a hand over her mouth with a noise somewhere between a shriek and a whimper and staggered backward, grasping the edge of the desk to steady herself. I could practically see her little heart threatening to beat out of her chest. 

Jim crossed to her in three strides as Simone and I looked on. Simone was practically jumping in place. He crouched somewhat to meet her eyes. "Wow, you guys weren't kidding, were you?"

Lily was beside herself. "I don't know what to say!" she cried, tears springing to her eyes again as her lips trembled, now parted in what was definitely a broken, ecstatic, yet fearful smile.

Looking back at her rock star, I saw something rise to his eyes. Was it compassion? Tenderness?

"That's okay, I'll start then," he reassured her, his own contagious smile returning. He cupped her shaking hands in his. "I've heard a lot about you, Lily."

"Y-you too," Lily stammered. "I-I mean --- I've heard about---"

"Oh, you're fine, you're fine, everything's great," he consoled as he wrapped his spindly arms around her. Lily, her breath still heaving a bit, laid her head on his shoulder as two huge tears of pure, unadulterated joy rolled down her face and landed on his back.

I was gobsmacked. This power pop prince, this indisputable _star,_ clad in leather and combat boots who swaggered in here like he owned the place, was kneeling in front of his own emotional fan and letting her know that there was no need to be frightened. My mind was about to implode with the incongruity.

When Lily had composed herself again somewhat, Jim straightened and looked right ahead to her department. I just had to giggle at the height difference. It was also sort of sweet. Lily could rest her head on Jim's chest, or slightly below it. He looked back down at her, his eyes still locked with hers. There was something almost heartbreaking about the sincerity in his manner toward her --- something more befitting an ordinary boy her age than a Mick Jagger in the making. "I need some stuff for my new place. Can you help me?"

"W-well," Lily explained, her voice still halting, "you'll ... tell me w-what you already have, and then we'll f-figure out what you need from there."

"Sounds great," he said. He swept his arm in front of him, prompting Lily to lead. "You're the expert."

Lily tentatively shuffled out in front, then glanced back wordlessly at him, imploring him to confirm that that was what he was asking her to do. He nodded back.

Lily began to lead him down the aisle. In her mind, though, she was probably floating. A rock star _and_ a gentleman. I shook my head. I never knew such a thing could exist.

As they walked off to housewares, their Docs click-clacking on the tile in harmony, I noticed Naomi passing them up the aisle. Her gaze was drawn upward at Lily's guest as they passed. 

Naomi approached the desk, her thumb turned back over her shoulder at them, looking utterly bemused. "Is _that_ \---"

Simone and I nodded. 

With that, her usual expression resumed. "Christ," I heard her mutter.

I started to go back to my paperwork, but apparently there were more pressing matters at hand. "Pam," Naomi barked, crooking her finger.

I stepped out from behind the desk. Naomi unclipped her walkie from the back pocket of her jeans and held it out to me. "Go keep an eye on them," she ordered.

 _Jesus,_ I thought. _I'm swamped as it is._

"Naomi, it's coming up on an hour and a half until close," I reminded her. "I still have freight to put away, I trust Lily to do her job---"

"Not tonight, you don't," Naomi interrupted. "This is an extraordinary situation. You're gonna follow them, and if they try _anything_ stupid, you page me _immediately._ I've got enough to do."

 _Fine, have it your way._ I shook my head angrily and started off for housewares. 

I'd lost sight of them by the time I got there. I first positioned myself behind a large shelf of Pyrex bakeware. From there, I mentally mapped out a trajectory of hiding spots along what I deemed was the most obvious route customers would take. God, what a fool's errand. Lily knew damn well there were cameras all over the store, as we all did. She knew better than to try anything stupid, even if it _was_ with her prince, her angel, her champion...

Well, I _am_ only human. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't even the tiniest bit interested in how this encounter was going to play out. I had never before witnessed someone meeting their hero. Wiser ones than I advise against it. I just hoped that this one time, they weren't right.

I peeked out from behind the shelf, searching for a flash of leather jacket or flame-colored hair. _Well, Mr. Ellison, she's talked you up and talked you up,_ I thought. _You better deliver._

I first heard them over on the far left side, near the Fiestaware.

"So, do you go to school?"

"Yeah, UIC. I move back in on Friday."

"Do you like it there?"

"Yeah, I do."

"What do you study?"

"Elementary education."

Lily would steal a glance up at Jim, then blush and glance down at her feet again as if it almost burned her to look at him too long, like she couldn't take in all of his awesomeness at once. It was so much easier when she was gazing at a photo, or sitting in the nosebleed section.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, sensing how nervous she still was. "You don't have to look away. You're not gonna implode. I'm not that powerful."

"I just can't believe it's you," she explained, making a concerted effort to keep her eyes on him this time. "It's not like I'd ask you to, y'know, pinch me or something."

That got another laugh out of Jim. 

"I just never thought you'd come into a place like this."

"Me either," he replied.

There was still something about him that bugged me, something that didn't match Lily's account of the man, but I didn't put two and two together until I heard him actually talking with her. 

It was his voice! Lily said he had the most incredible voice in the world. But it was nasal! It was scratchy! It was grating! He had one of the thickest Chicago accents I'd ever heard --- definitely from the west side somewhere. _This_ was the voice Lily adored?

"You always struck me, and please don't take this the wrong way, as more of a Venture kinda guy. Did somebody recommend us?"

Jim didn't appear to take offense. "My tenant. She told me to come here."

Lily's eyes widened. "She? Like, she lives in your house? Pays you rent or something?"

"Yeah, I met her a year ago. I offered to let her rent from me when she moved here. She's really sweet and romantic, kinda like you."

Lily, though obviously flattered, lowered her voice somewhat. "Do you ... go with her?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "I don't look at her that way. She's more like a little sister."

Lily seemed a bit relieved by that.

"You're right, actually," he continued. “I _was_ gonna go to Venture. She was like 'What are you thinking, Jimmy? You don't want any Venture crap! You know you're gonna open the box and half the pieces will be missing. Go someplace nice, like Carson's. You can afford it now anyways.'"

"She's got good taste," Lily posited, blushing again. "I'm so glad you came tonight."

"Bet you're happy you didn't play hooky," Jim replied with a wink.

Lily giggled. "Where did you move to?" she asked him. It was a softly-worded question, not too specific. I figured she was testing the waters. I didn't hear what Jim said, but Lily repeated it.

"Roscoe Village?" Concern clouded Lily's eyes, and she looked right at him. "That's ... not the best neighborhood. I took some pictures there once. And you have so many guitars. Aren't you scared you might get, y'know, broken into or something?"

"Someone's gotta take back the neighborhood," he replied with a cocky toss of his chili-bowl hair. "It might as well be me."

Lily beamed at him. "Who better than you?"

Yeah, he was an arrogant one alright, and Lily played right along. From the first impression he'd made when he came into the store, from his weather-inappropriate yet undeniably cool clothes to the confidence bordering on cockiness he exuded, it was obvious that Jim had decided that if he was going to be a star, he was going to be every inch and every moment the star. If people knew his face, his stance, his voice, there's no way in hell he'd ever let them see him acting like an ordinary person. The strange thing about it was that, from what I saw, it seemed to work for him --- arrogance in his hands became endearing instead of off-putting, especially with his warmth and sincerity toward this particular fan, his willingness to just shoot the breeze with her and ask her without any hint of falseness what was going on in her life, which made it harder to discern whether or not it was all just an act. Was it perhaps a mask for a latent insecurity he dressed up in pretty words and charming tunes, or did he actually believe he could single-handedly restore a neighborhood in disrepair with his mere presence? Maybe. And I didn't hate him for it.

Who better than Jim? She meant it, just as surely as he did. 

Jim sank to the floor with unexpected grace to examine a cutlery set, and she followed him.

"Do you like doing dishes by hand?" Lily asked.

"People like doing dishes by hand? That's news to me, man."

"Then these probably aren't the ones for you,” Lily said softly. "These are carbon-forged stainless steel, they _have_ to be washed by hand and dried immediately. Otherwise, they'll rust and fall apart."

"Good to know," he replied. "Science class was a while ago." 

"How are Ted and Mike?" she asked next.

"They're the same. Fuckin' awesome."

Lily giggled. "They certainly are."

"Have you seen any of our shows?"

"I try never to miss a show that I can go to," Lily explained. "It's hard, though. I have school and work and everything."

"Sounds like you're a really busy girl," he said, a bit of the sympathy that welled up earlier in his eyes returning.

"Yeah, a little," she said, looking at him more steadily now and absently fingering the silver heart-shaped locket around her neck, or the small rhinestone ring on her finger. "I've seen you at Taste of Chicago, church festivals, things like that. And I don't see much of you guys, because..." Lily held her palm flat at the top of her head to illustrate. "But now I'm finally twenty-one, so I can get into clubs. And hopefully one day I'll be lucky enough to wind up in the front row."

"I hope you do,” he replied. "You'd be a great focal point for us with that hair."

Lily beamed, her hand unconsciously traveling up to touch her shining hair.

"Do you have a favorite song?"

Lily seemed a little unprepared for the question. "I ... couldn't ever pick a favorite," she finally said. "I know them all by heart, though. They all make my day better."

Jim's eyes went soft and slightly sad again. "Thanks. That really means a lot."

It's also entirely possible that Lily's reactions to him created the illusion of endearment --- granted, I'd only just met this man. Lily hung on his every word as well as every note he sang, and was just as surprised as I was when he held her in his arms, asked her questions and let her know she was valued. I'm sure any other girl would be so too, but would any other girl react quite like Lily, her tender tears, rosy blushes and soft starry looks more eloquent than speech? 

They were now standing in front of the gadget wall. Jim stroked his chin and scanned the top row, which stood a good nine feet off the floor.

"I could use a pizza cutter," he mused. "I think mine got lost in the move."

"I'll have to get the stepladder," said Lily.

"No, you won't," Jim shot back.

He grabbed her under her arms and lifted her up as if she were Simba. Lily let out a short shriek. Once she got her bearings, she called down to him.

"Which one?"

"Far right!" he huffed.

Lily reached over and grabbed the pizza cutter. When Jim saw that she had it in hand, he gingerly lowered her back down. Lily panted a little in shock.

"Tonight you're usin' the Jim Ellison Express," he grinned, his eyes twinkling at her.

Lily exhaled with a giggle and looked at the pizza cutter, then back up at Jim with a sweet, pearly smile. "Can we do it again later?"


	4. Chapter 4

Their conversation continued after that, though I'm not quite sure what else they talked about. When Jim decided on an item, Lily told him to wait as she ran it to the housewares desk. She made a few trips, but Jim would always be patiently standing right where she left him. 

Naomi cycled through housewares a few times, pausing to watch Jim and Lily with her stony, sour expression, her lips twitching. I guess I should have known what a slap in the face this was to her. Not that I cared, of course.

As we moved through the rooms, my store-mandated eavesdropping was interrupted by the sound of whispers and titters coming from the big appliance room. I broke from my reconnaisance mission briefly to investigate.

It turned out to be four or five of our own girls, huddled behind a shelf of waffle makers. I tiptoed around to the back and picked out Amy, Claire and Heather at first glance.

I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Simone to spread the news all over the store, and in record time. _Lily's dude is here! Pass it on!_

"Look at him, he's so tall!" Amy sighed.

"Did you see him lift her?" Claire gushed.

"Okay, I'll admit I didn't think much of him when I saw Lily's pictures, but obviously, pictures don't do him justice," Heather declared. "He's hot. H-A-W-T. _Haaawwwwt._ "

I leaned in close. "Don't you all have work to do?" I hissed. They turned around to see my evil eye staring back at them, and scattered like mice.

"You are not being paid to spy on a rock star," I continued as they hurried back to their posts. "Only I am."

"Yeah, what a burden," said Heather bitterly.

I turned back just in time to see something I honestly didn't expect this early in the game: Lily, having spotted something, suddenly seized Jim's hand and dragged him toward the shelf next to the wine glasses. I buried my mouth in the crook of my arm. When a guy as tall and lanky as he was is pulled along by a girl easily half his size, his attempts to maintain his footing make for some interesting contortions. That was some fast progress right there.

The shelf Lily pulled him over to held a display of small, dainty ice cream dishes with slight pedestals and a delicate swirled, almost petal-like design. They were of translucent glass tinted softly in pink, green, blue and lavender, and had an iridescent finish. I think they were meant to recall Depression-era glass, the kind that still sits in a corner cabinet in my mother's house.

"These are the most beautiful things I sell right now," Lily told Jim, trembling again. "I don't really know why I'm showing these to you. You probably wouldn't want them. They're too girly."

" _I_ know why you're showing them to me," Jim replied, the knowing twinkle returning to his eyes. "You think they're pretty, and you like me, and you hope I think they're pretty, too. You're just sharing a piece of yourself with me and praying I don't drop the ball. It's not really much different from playing rock 'n' roll, believe it or not."

Lily's eyes twinkled back.

"They _are_ pretty," he went on, looking back at the dishes. "I think my grandma has some like that. The ones she has are legit, though. You bought these for yourself yet?"

"No," she replied. "But I'll tell you what I'd do with them."

"What's that?"

"Put a couple of scoops of chocolate ice cream in the dish --- actually, gelato's better if you can find it," Lily explained breathlessly. "And then pour some hot espresso over the top. It's the most delicious thing you will ever taste in your life."

"Swear to Jesus?"

"Every day, rain or shine."

They giggled in unison this time, then turned back to look at the dishes.

"The girl who lives above you," said Lily. " _She_ might like them."

"Yeeeeeah," said Jim, realizing. "And she might wanna try that the way you said. But could it be a milkshake for me?"

Lily shrugged. "I guess it could if you wanted it to be. The same two things, except blended."

Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't get milkshakes as often as I used to. The quality's really gone down in the past year."

"Really? I hadn't noticed. Why do you think that is?"

"Lack of interest in building a better milkshake, I guess," he said. "I blame the fact that cows are getting less attractive."

Lily exploded with chiming, trilling laughter. " _What?!_ "

Jim laughed as well, louder and more obnoxiously than he had before. "Think about it, Lily!"

"Oh my God, that's nasty!" Lily tried valiantly to stifle herself. "That's nasty! I have to write that down!"

Their mutual storm of laughter eventually subsided. Lily spoke first.

"So what you're saying is, you wanna try to make your own?"

"It's probably worth it at this point," Jim replied.

Lily smiled her sweet pearly smile up at him. "I know exactly what you need then."

She extended her hand. Jim hesitated with a knowing, sardonic look on his face.

"I'm not gonna pull you like that this time," Lily promised. "I'm sorry, Jim. You weren't ready for it. I just got a little excited."

Jim resumed his smile. "I don't see how someone like you could ever hurt me," he said.

He took her hand, and she led him over to the immersion blenders. Before they were out of earshot and I had to move again, I heard Lily once more.

"To be fair, you did lift _me_ before I was ready," she snickered.


	5. Chapter 5

They spent about another half an hour together, traversing the towels, shower accessories, and bedding. I was hiding behind the luggage again, peering out at my charges in wonder.

At one point, Jim let go of Lily's hand to look at something on the other side of the aisle. Lily didn't seem to mind, as she was searching for something Jim had requested. A moment or so later, he rushed back across the aisle and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Dude!" he exclaimed. Lily spun around to face him.

"Check this out," he said as he took Lily's hand again and led her across the way. They went over to a glass display shelf in decorative bedding, from which Jim produced a large knit afghan with an American flag design. He unfolded it and held it up proudly.

"That really is you," Lily gushed. "Perfect for chillin' and watching Evel Knievel jump some school buses."

Jim chuckled as nasally as ever. "Y'know, it still blows my mind how well people I've never met know me," he confided.

"Such is the life of a rock star," said Lily.

I gazed at them again, my heart swelling. What I had watched transpire was, I realized, a testament to how extraordinarily gifted this man was at making people feel good, of being everything they dreamed he would be. The powerful aura I sensed earlier seemed to be one of life, of joy, of honest love for the people who listened to and loved his music. Lily had gone from shrinking from his gaze to letting him lift her in his arms to pulling _him_ along the sales floor to show him something, all in the span of about an hour and a half. If Lily was as rabid a fan as anyone else, if she was _typical,_ it proved that Jim was truly good to his fans, an expert at making them feel welcome and comfortable, like each one mattered to him. 

He was no ordinary rock star, that was for damn sure. 

In that moment, as I watched, the rock god and the fan seemed to have vanished. In their place were left two friends. Just a gaunt, boyish, rambunctious Chicago mod and a girl who smelled sweetly of lilacs, with a head full of music and fairy tales. 

The kind of girl he would go home and write songs about.

I hoped it would stay like this. I hoped Lily, like Naomi, would be able to have all the time in the world with him later that night. But then again, _much_ like Naomi, it ain't over 'til the fat lady sings. 

Or the skinny guy, in this case.

I sensed that they were wrapping it up, so I walked back over to the housewares desk as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. My covert operation was a success. Lily and Jim never once suspected that I was watching them, but that was probably less a result of any effort on my part as it was because they were so preoccupied with each other. A fool's errand, yes, but an entertaining one.

Simone appeared behind the desk as Lily brought the last of Jim's items up and volunteered to ring in her stead, to which Lily happily accepted. I suppose she didn't want Lily to be distracted from Jim in the event that this first night was also their last. 

I don't really remember all of what Jim bought. I think there was a coffeemaker, and I think there might have been a toaster oven. The tinted, delicate little ice cream dishes Lily loved were definitely in there, as was the countertop milkshake maker with the candy-apple red finish and the Evel Knievel throw. I do know for _sure_ that he cleaned out the Fourth of July and Memorial Day clearance, however. Lily stood by his side as Simone rung him up, stars dancing in her eyes, taking in every motion, every reaction, everything she could before he swaggered back out of her life. All too soon everything was paid for and bagged, ready to haul out to the parking lot.

"So, what do you think of Carson's?" Simone asked him as she passed some bags across the counter.

"Everything's great here!" he exclaimed. "You guys are all really helpful."

"Jim?" Lily suddenly interjected.

He turned to face her. "Yeah, what's up?"

"I don’t want to be demanding, I mean, you’re not performing," she continued, "but before you go … could you do one more thing for me?"

Jim set the bags he was holding back down. "Anything for a fan."

A shy, hopeful smile appeared on Lily’s soft pink lips as her eyes widened. "Sing for me … please?"

Jim stared at her for a moment, his own lovely eyes widening at her, then broke into his toothy, contagious smile.

"What would you like to hear?"

Lily looked down at her feet, as if this were the most important decision she would ever make. 

"Choose wisely. You only get one," Jim warned.

Lily finally looked back up at Jim, her eyes glittering with unspilled tears of joy. "'Don't You Think I Know'," she requested.

Jim slowly nodded. "Good choice."

Lily hoisted herself onto the ledge of the desk in order to get closer. She had reverted back to the ecstatic, starstruck fan in her anticipation, and Jim back to her minstrel knight in shining armor. He took her tiny hands in his own, and looking directly into her quavering eyes, he began to sing.

_"Hello starry eyes, it's just me,_

_Shut all the blinds so no one can see..."_

This time I was captive. He was no longer a tinny-sounding squeak in an earbud. He was _here,_ right in front of me. Right in front of Lily. And the voice was no longer far away and inconsequential.

Gone was the nasality and stridence of his bare words. His tone was now crystal clear, without a trace of scratchiness. It was sweet, boyish, almost innocent. It caressed the lower notes with an ever-present shudder of straight-from-the-gut emotion, raw and deep and unspeakable. When it climbed up to the high notes, it was pure and heroic and rang like a new brass bell. It seemed to glow --- from a small ball of amber light to an encompassing ruddy red-orange, filling my mind's eye like the sun behind my closed eyelids. It was warm, like the sun. It _felt_ like the sun on my back on the first day of spring. I could swear I saw sunbeams dancing and sparkling in the very notes he sang.

I forgot how to breathe. I felt chills, goosebumps rising on my arms...

_"So wrap your long, tan arms around me..."_

It was perfect, just as she said. It was like nothing, like no one I had ever heard before. I wanted to listen to this voice for the rest of my life.

_"Kiss me like you lost me and you found me..."_

It took all I had in me to tear my attention away from them, but I realized we were no longer alone. Customers --- young girls with their mothers, college kids, people attracted by the sheer novelty and beauty of it --- were appearing on all sides, gasping and whispering. Store associates and makeup counter girls joined them. Everyone within a thirty-foot radius, everyone within earshot of his enthralling voice, was slowly encroaching on the housewares desk.

"Material Issue. Jim Ellison."

It didn't matter. For all Lily cared, she and Jim were the only two people on earth. No one else existed in that moment. It was just them --- her eyes and his voice in a poignant duet.

I looked back at Lily. She sat still as a stone, enraptured, her eyes wider and starrier than ever, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks.

_"Hold me close, don't let me go_

_Don't you think I know?_

_Don't you think I know?"_

As the last note faded into the air, the crowd cheered. Jim took no notice of them. He was still gazing at his weeping fan, this time with concern.

"Oh, Lily, you're crying again? That's not a good way to end it."

Lily let out a shuddering breath, then gasped again.

"Not even when I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life?"

Jim smiled upon her. I guess he realized he should have known. He gently, ever so gently brushed the tears away from Lily's eyes with a deft sweep of his fingers. He then grabbed her under the arms again, eliciting another yelp of surprise, and lifted her off the desk. Lily hugged him around his neck, holding him like she would never, ever let go. After holding her for what seemed like forever, Jim set her back down on the floor and kissed her on the forehead. 

The crowd went wild. Heather, Amy and Claire squealed in delight. Simone whooped right out loud. I just stood silently, feeling my heart melt for her, his voice still echoing in my ears.

Naomi stood a short distance away, her burly arms crossed. Maybe Jim had charmed her also, maybe he hadn't. If he had, she was hiding it extremely well, given the way her upper lip was curling in barely-concealed disgust. She wasn't annoyed --- she was fuming. Seething. Trying valiantly to figure out what the hell made meek little Lily Chastain so special that a power pop god with a voice forged by the angels themselves would descend from the heavens to appear at her side and reward her for her thankless work with a public serenade and a kiss. But it was no use now, and Naomi knew it. Lily's single favorite person in the world had seen that she was doing a good job. It was his word against hers now. How _dare_ he.

Jim signed a few autographs as Lily watched, her tears flowing anew, and the crowd began to break up. It was about fifteen minutes to closing time anyway. As Simone volunteered to bring the toaster oven out after them, Lily grabbed two handfuls of bags and Jim grabbed two more. Again, he let her lead.

I glanced through the automatic doors at them. Jim had actually found a prime parking space; his car was in full view. It was an old muscle car, carefully restored. After the car was packed up, Lily lingered. They were still talking, although about what I could only guess this time.

_I can never thank you enough._

In spite of herself and the situation, I knew she was thinking of Naomi.

_They might let me follow you home --- that happened once before ---_

I figured if she was going to entertain the thought and ask Naomi if she could do the same as she did that day, it would probably be best if I beat her to it. She'd respond better to me.

_If I'm not back in five minutes, just go home without me._

Lily finally, reluctantly, turned to go back into the store, looking back over her shoulder the whole way. Jim lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the car, presumably waiting.

_Take care, Lily._

I sighed. It was now or never.

Naomi was leaning against the corner wall near the office. She'd found Simone's and my paperwork and was leafing through it, marking it here and there with a red Sharpie. I strolled over to her, hoping I projected the confidence I didn't feel.

She looked up when she heard me approach. "Is he all packed up?"

"Yep," I replied cheerfully. "She's on her way back in."

"Good." She turned back to the list. I made my move.

"You know, Naomi," I began, as nonchalantly as possible, "maybe she could follow him home on the bus and help him get his things organized, like you did with Fast Eddie's aunt."

Naomi raised an eyebrow. One corner of her mouth turned up, a bit comically. My heart skipped a beat. I didn't realize until later that I was holding my breath.

"He plays guitar, he's got two functioning hands," she replied just as casually. "I'm sure he's plenty capable of putting his own things away. And last time I looked at the schedule sheet, I recall seeing that she was here until close."

"So? I'll punch her out when we leave. I did the same for you that day."

Naomi's lip curled again. "No, Pam. She's not going _anywhere._ "

I stared incredulously at her. "How is this any different from what you did?"

"For starters," Naomi huffed, "she couldn't _see._ Her connections were just icing on the cake."

Fair enough, I guess. I knew it was going to be a long shot based on that alone. But still...

"That means it was a _fluke,_ Naomi," I ground out. "This is a clear and present opportunity. We knew from the beginning that _this_ guy was a big deal. It would be another glowing endorsement for the store."

"No."

"He _is_ a rock star---"

"No!"

"---so why not give him the rock star treatment---"

"Nooooo..."

"He'll recommend us to his rich, rich colleagues!"

"Out of the question, NO!" She drowned my last sentiment out.

 _God damn. I should have known better._ I sighed, long and low, and stared daggers down at Naomi.

"It would be _so_ special for Lily," I began, trying to suppress the rage in my voice. "This isn't just anyone. This is _her hero._ She works hard, she never complains, she never asks us for a damn thing! If you ask me, I'd say she's _due._ "

Naomi just looked at me mildly, or so she believed, her eyes still narrowed. She was doing a piss-poor job of hiding the sheer malice in them, at any rate.

"Tough shit. She can be a groupie on her own time."

 _Really?!_ I stared, then sputtered.

"I---wh---okay, was that really necessary?" I finally managed.

"It doesn’t matter," Naomi spit back, "whether it was necessary or not. I don’t make the rules, you don’t make the rules, and Lily most certainly does not make the rules. She’s here until close. And if she doesn’t like it" --- she jerked a beefy thumb over her shoulder --- "there’s the door."

I don't remember what I said next. I was probably about to really let her have it this time, if the high, fluting voice directly behind me hadn't interrupted with its usual sweet, plaintive inquisitiveness. At least at first...

" _ **PAM!!**_ "

I nearly jumped ten feet in the air. I spun around to see her standing there again, looking up at me. It was the most I had ever heard her raise her voice.

"Pam," she started again, still quivering with joy, her wonderful eyes still misted over. "Pam, it's okay. Don't worry about it. It's all okay."

I stared back at her. "Are you sure, Lily?"

She nodded in reply. "Could I talk to you for a sec? And Simone, too?"

"Sure," I replied. "I think she's back over in juniors. I can come over there and find you both."

"Okay," she whispered through a faint, sweet smile. The most heartbreaking whisper I'd ever heard in my life. She took off.

I turned back to Naomi, defeated, but still bound to have the last word. "Just let her have this one, all right?" I said to her. "She’s probably going to count this among the best days of her life. Please ... don’t ruin it for her."

Naomi made no reply. She simply turned, her face red with silent rage, and lumbered back to the office. Out in the parking lot, I heard that same nasty squeal of tires Simone and I had heard earlier.

I found Simone exactly where I predicted she would be, bent nearly double with her arms wrapped around Lily, who was now weeping on her shoulder. When they saw me, Lily motioned to come closer. For safety's sake, we knelt behind a rack of pre-ripped jeans.

"I know there's a strict no-tipping policy here," Lily whispered, still faint with emotion, "but I know I can count on you guys not to tell, so I just wanted you to know that Jim reserved a seat for me at the next show. Front row, center." The words began to catch in her throat again. "It's okay. Don't feel bad, Pam. I'll see him again."

I grinned at her, feeling a huge weight lift from my shoulders. Lily would have her fairy-tale ending after all.

"Well, you know what that means, Lily Bean," Simone piped up, again a little too loudly. "We gotta find you a dress! I'll help you pick one out the next time you're not on the clock."

Lily nodded, smiling. "Yeah. I could use a new dress anyway."

Simone put her arm around Lily as they walked back to the stockroom to get the freight. I listened to their conversation until it faded away.

"Ooooh, it's like Cinderella in reverse! You met the prince, now you're going to the ball!"

Lily giggled brokenly. "I guess it is kinda like that."

"Glenda can do your makeup before the show."

"Yeah. I don't like to wear too much makeup, though."

"Did I say you needed much, girl?" Simone laughed. "You charmed him just as you were! In overalls! How do you wanna do your hair?"

Lily absently fingered a lock falling in her face. "Put flowers in it, like I always do."

"You best be making me a bridesmaid after I do this for ya," Simone husked.

"Bridesmaid? Whaddya mean?"

"Future Mrs. Ellison! Come on now."

Lily looked over her shoulder at me just before they walked through the stockroom door. There was no doubt whatsoever about what her expression conveyed: 

_It doesn't get any better than this._

That night I drove home, my mind still turning over that voice, which would soon be indelibly burned into my memory. I left the radio off. I didn't want anyone else to spoil it.

The next day, which happened to be my one day off that week, I went to Musicland and bought both Material Issue albums. After Ashley went to bed that night, I turned off the lights in my bedroom, buried myself in the covers and turned on the tape player. No distractions. Just that voice, and nothing but that voice.

And I heard it. I felt it! It cut like a knife through the darkness, on top of swirling, pulsating melodies and thunderous drums. It glowed, just like it had in the store. The ball of amber light in my mind's eye grew and grew until it illuminated the void around me. The backup vocals, high and soaring, were the foil that made it shine even more brilliantly. I was overcome. I shook. I wept. It moved with the rawest energy, the truest emotion, the most unspeakable _beauty,_ sparking an excitement in my heart and in my mind so deep that I could never, ever describe it. Every high, every low, every shudder and nuance and howl, sung of anticipation and obsession and love unrequited and promises made but not kept, brought a sensation with it: his trumpeting belts like the bracing wind rushing at your face on the shore, his long, sunny slides like the huge, cool waves breaking over your bare back. His soft, lullabyish near-whispers like the scent of lilacs and honeysuckle on the evening breeze ... his sweet, crystalline tones like the sun sparkling on the Lake ... his anguished screams like jumping off the swing at the playground at just the right moment --- the feeling of _flight!_

_What sorcery was this?!_

The concert came and went. A new photo had taken pride of place on the door of Lily's locker, taken with her own well-worn camera. It was of Jim, much as he looked that night in the store, clutching a Heineken and looking cooler than Jesus, and a tiny, delicate girl in a short white sundress sprinkled with rosebuds, with a crown woven from white daisies perched atop her head of long, autumn-hued ripples, gazing up at him.

The next time we were scheduled together, I found Lily in the break room, sitting quietly and idly playing with the translucent blue guitar pick that served as the pendant on her new necklace. I demanded to know how it all went down.

"It was the best show they've ever done!" she exclaimed. "I was right in the front, right in front of Jim. He noticed me in the audience and told everyone what I did for him."

"Really? That was sweet of him!" I said.

Lily gazed into space for a moment or two, nodding at my comment. 

"Then they debuted a new song. I think it was called 'Your Biggest Fan' or something like that. It was beautiful." Her eyes began to well up. "He looked at me the whole time they played it!"

My mouth dropped open. "You don't think..."

"No," said Lily, reaching for a Kleenex and giggling nervously through her tears. "No, no, no, no, no. It couldn't have been me. It couldn't have. He talks to _so_ many girls."

"Then why do you think he looked at you?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" she cried. "Maybe it _was_ me, maybe it wasn't. But I really, really kind of hope! I didn't ask him when we hung out on the tour bus ... I - I didn't know how."

Lily stayed at Carson's until she graduated the following spring, all of Naomi's abuse unchallenged. But after that night, I never caught her crying in the break room again.

As for Jim, Ted and Mike, I believe they put out one more album.

I really shouldn't have kept that voice to myself.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Valerie's dancing in a room above my bed, you know_

_For all of the world below to see..."_

I must have played the video through about five times before Ashley opened the door, her face crossed with concern. I scrambled to pause it.

"Mom, what happened? You disappeared almost half an hour ago."

"I did? Oh, Jesus."

"It's okay," said Ashley, reassurance in her tone. "I didn't need it right away. I, uh, put Charlotte down for her nap, and then I stepped outside with Brian and Henry for a little bit. We missed you."

I looked down at my lap, ashamed. "I'm so sorry."

"Mom, is something wrong? You wanna talk about it?"

"No, honey, really, I'm---"

"Who's this?" she suddenly inquired with a smile, noticing the Youtube screen. She stepped closer and craned her neck over my shoulder. I'd been found out.

I smiled, a little guiltily. "I was ... just thinking about a girl I worked with when you were little," I explained. "She liked this band a lot."

"At Carson's, then?"

"Yeah."

"Did I ever meet her?"

"You did, once," I replied. "You said she looked like Ariel. That really made her day, you know."

"Hmm. I don't remember that."

"I don't blame you, honey. You were, what, seven?"

Ashley chuckled. "I'll go get a chair."

Almost right back in again, once out. She carried her chair from the kitchen gingerly into the closet, set it next to me and sat down.

"Material Issue," Ashley read. "Never heard of them."

"And you call yourself a Chicagoan," I snarked.

"Always," she retorted dryly. "And don't you forget it."

I snorted. "Honey, I'm messing with you. They were a bit before your time."

"I see that," she said, eyeing the screen. "When was this made?"

"Ninetyyyyy-one, I believe? That was when I first heard it. Want me to play it for you?"

"Sure."

We watched the video in silence, both squinting at the grainy, yet impossibly cool, black-and-white images: The band rocking out in a smoky bar. The band, on foot, chasing a car driven by the requisite video babe. Jim perched on a ledge, strumming his guitar and howling to the heavens.

"Okay, would you ever expect that voice to come out of that guy?" Ashley exclaimed as the video ended. 

"Maybe," I said. "The more I see of him, the more it seems to fit him."

"He looks all Poindextery though!" Ashley went on. "But _my God,_ can he sing!"

I chuckled. "I said the same once."

"So they were her favorite, huh?"

"She was one of _my_ favorites," I replied, my voice going a little quavery. "She was so sweet, Ashley. So innocent. She loved life. She loved school --- she was studying to be a teacher. That's probably why she responded so well to you. She cried over everything --- happy, sad, beautiful. Didn't matter. She loved flowers and ice cream and music. But she loved his voice most of all."

"I can see why," said Ashley. 

"Y'know, he came into the store one night. He'd just bought a house. She was working. She got to help him find some things."

"Oh my gosh, how lucky!" Ashley exclaimed.

"She led him around the store. They talked, they looked at things. When he was done shopping, she asked him if he would sing for her, and he did. A crowd formed around them, it was so beautiful. Just --- her pretty eyes, and his voice."

Ashley's eyes went soft, and a warm, melting smile spread across her face. "If a guy ever did that for me, even if he wasn't a rock star, I'd love him forever," she gushed. "Brian can't sing, but still."

"With the music he made, I don't think she could have helped loving him forever," I agreed. "I don't think _anyone_ could have, for that matter." I turned my eyes toward the wall. "It should have ended better. It really should've."

Ashley's brow furrowed. "Whaddya mean?"

I paused, biting my lip, not wanting to say it out loud.

"What happened, Mom?"

"Well, honey..."

I sighed, so long that Ashley probably thought I would never breathe again --- almost the same way I did when I first heard the news.

"He died. Only a couple of years after that night."

"Was he in an accident or something?"

"No. One night he locked himself in his garage, started his car and ... just waited."

"Why?"

I shrugged. 

Ashley's face fell, and she raised her hand to her mouth. "Oh, she must have been crushed."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "That's really the only outcome I can think of."

Ashley shook her head. "That's awful."

"He died _today,_ actually," I continued. "Twenty years ago. That's why I zoned out a little bit in the kitchen." I took a second to swallow a sob. "This date hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought of her."

"Do you know where she is now?" asked Ashley.

"No. I never saw her again after she graduated."

"Have you ever considered finding her," Ashley began knowingly, picking up the mouse to illustrate, "ya know, now that we have the tech-no-lo-gee?"

"Oh, honey, she doesn't remember me," I scoffed. "It was so long ago."

"You'd be surprised, Mom," Ashley persisted. "If she's a teacher now, she's almost certainly on Facebook. She would be so touched to know that you thought of her all these years. And of him, too. I say look her up."

"And what, pray tell, would I say to her?"

"Anything!" Ashley replied. "'How have you been?' 'How did life turn out for you?' 'I still think of you.' 'I still listen to Material Issue, thank you for introducing me.' She'd appreciate it all."

"I might only bring back some unpleasant memories for her," I said, my voice heavy as lead.

Ashley sighed and stared at me, her brown eyes, so like my own, full of sympathy. For a brief moment, I wondered if that was what I often looked like to Lily. She squeezed my shoulder, then slowly got up from her chair and went to the door. It opened with a slow, soft creak.

"You know, it's sad that he died, but his voice isn't gone," Ashley said from the doorway. "We managed to capture it. She knows that, too."

I nodded, without turning to look at her. "I know."

A few moments passed silently, and then Ashley spoke again.

"I'm ready to go to the store whenever you are, okay? If you still need a minute, I'll leave you alone."

I didn't answer her. She gently closed the door.

My cursor hovered above the Facebook tab. I closed it. It wasn't at all a matter of what I would say to her. It was entirely a matter of what _she_ would say to me.

After all, I was the one who caved. I should have put my foot down. I should have told Naomi to go to hell. We were equals, for God's sake! Sure, she had seniority, and she was miserable, and thought the world owed her. But if I had just stood and refused to let her take it out on Lily just that one night, who knows what could have happened? A meet-'n'-greet after a show is thrilling, and a tour bus invitation is a dream come true for many, but neither begin to compare to the one-on-one, undivided attention of one's hero. That's what Lily had that night, and she would have had more if she had followed him home.

She should have had more time with him. She deserved to. _He_ deserved to.

They probably would have chatted some more as Jim's things were unpacked and put away. Since there was another young woman in the house, she possibly would have been allowed to stay the night in her room. They probably would have stayed up until all hours talking, playing guitar and singing. With the way Jim treated her in the store, Lily would have eventually been comfortable enough with him to share her deepest desires and passions, and in turn, he'd share his with her.

I imagined her inspiring his greatest work, the work that would finally make the record company sit up and listen instead of drop them, and finally earn him and his bandmates the fame and the following they deserved. I imagined billboards inset with digital clocks counting down the days until Material Issue's next release. I imagined his voice reverberating off of arena walls instead of the low, cramped ceilings of Chicago's nightclub circuit. I imagined him coming home, lifting Lily in the air and kissing her on the forehead, and breezing into a room full of fairy-faced children with hair in varying shades of amber and sunset exhorting him to sing a lullaby as night fell over the little house on the little street in the gloriously restored Roscoe Village.

But of course that last bit was just silly. Lily was merely a fan, one of many. Nothing more. Then again, that was the bitch of it: she _could_ have been more. The chance to become his _friend_ was in her grasp, and we yanked it away from her.

_She could have been the one to save him._

Like anyone else, I don't know if it would have made any difference. But I knew Lily. I knew she knew his worth, and through her, I understood it too. I knew she would follow him to hell and back if she could. Even if she didn't marry him and bear his children, I know she would have always made time for him. That's the kind of friend she was, I gathered. She would have locked him inside the house so he couldn't escape. She would have snatched the keys out of his hand. She would have sat up with him all night if need be, holding him as tight as she did in the store, letting him cry on _her_ shoulder this time. And I know in my heart she would have whispered in his ear, in that same heartbreaking tone of voice she used that night, "Please don't leave me."

She truly would have been his biggest fan.

I typed the song into Youtube's search. I closed my eyes and let the wall of sound wash over me in waves. The cascading _aaaaahhhhhs_ of the opening, followed by Jim's clarion call to the void, all at once both heroic and desperate, as if he were reaching out for something he knew he'd never be able to touch. A love pure, warm, undying, unconditional? Ears that yearned only for the notes he sang? Eyes luminous, full of tears and admiration, eyes like golden stars set in a twilight sky?

_"I apologize --- God, how I love your eyes..._

_And I know sometimes it seems no one understands_

_But I can, 'cause I'm your biggest fan..."_

The violins swelled in the background as he cried the words again. Lily hoped, but I knew. It had to have been her. It _must_ have been her.

I imagined her reaching back across the void to him, trying desperately to touch him as well. She was still here, for all I knew, but he was gone. That beautiful ballad was still here, but he was gone. The first thing that sweet, free-spirited girl I knew so long ago fell in love with was still here, bottled up on earth --- the voice that deserved, _demanded_ to be heard --- but he was gone. 

The voice was all that remained. 

I wondered if she were still as glad to be alive as she was back then. I wondered if she could even bear to listen to Material Issue anymore. If she did, it definitely affected her now in a way she could never even dream of then, a way I sure didn't think was possible the day she played their music for me for the first time. She again felt the beauty and wonder of her youth, which to her probably seemed like only yesterday. She felt the same regret, the same loss --- but she felt things so deeply. I imagine it was painful for her just to love the band, to love him, as much as she did. Where I had pangs of conscience, she was probably cut to the bone. Their hearts were filled with the same things, Lily and Jim --- things that were only nice and sweet and good. For all his onstage bravado, which Lily gushed over so many times, his incorrigible swagger and strange sex appeal, his heart was as pure and innocent as hers. Had hers been _irreparably_ broken, like his? I'm not sure I wanted to know.

But, as Ashley pointed out, it's not like she _could_ never hear his voice again. I never appreciated it myself when we listened to it together, until I had no choice but to. And even then, it was probably already too late. But it's the one thing Lily and I still had in common after all these years, our one link to the past we shared. It still glowed with the ardor of the sun itself out in the black void of silence, like a star that would never burn out --- the eternal proof of the dent he made in the universe, however small it may seem. And Lily and I could theoretically share it together again, with new understanding, the kind that eluded him here --- the kind more people should have given him.

Lily was a rare breed, though. It only made sense that she'd be drawn to another.

Maybe I'll look her up tonight.

 

 

 **Author's Note:** Despite the story you have just read, there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that Jim Ellison met Lily Chastain at her place of employment or that the song "The Fan" was inspired by her. Mostly because she's not real … but the point is that it _could_ have happened.


End file.
